Hollow SHORT VERSION, REDONE
by cloy
Summary: I redid Hollow, and I shortened it to this one chapter. Not too many flames please, because I was going to spend more time on it, but I just had to get it done ASAP so it's crap. R/R.


He had promised! He promised to her. He gave his word that he wouldn't turn out like that. He'd held her tiny, warm hands in his own broad cold ones and he'd promised her. He said he'd never become IT. It that everyone hated the most, one of them; dark and distant and evil. He looked into her deep warm eyes with his own piercing gaze. He promised he'd never do that to her. No matter what, he'd never turn into one of them. He'd never be like his father.  
  
He swore that what happened between them, what WAS happening, was not just some silly rendezvous. He told her he cared for her. He told her he loved her, and in turn, she told him he'd never be alone again; never being cold or afraid again; she'd never leave him. She was everything he had. On those nights when they made the satin linens of the bed hot and sticky as candle wax, when they could barely touch because they were so sweaty and hot that it would almost burn to come in contact and they were breathing so hard that it hurt to speak. On those nights, he towered above her and whispered close to her ear in that hoarse whisper that drove her mad: I love you.  
  
Was he ever true to her? Sometimes she couldn't tell when she passed him in the halls and he scowled, face contorted as if he had detected a horrible stench in the air. It was those times when she doubted him the most. When she gazed at her reflection in the mirror and her blank eyes stared back at her, dark circles underneath them.  
  
It was almost a pity for her to run her fingers over her frame every morning, fingering the fresh purple-black bruises that had appeared over night. Had she hit herself on the night table in her sleep? Maybe, yet she wasn't such a heavy sleeper. It wasn't his fault, she told herself. He just got angry sometimes. And when he pulled her hair, it wasn't really him; and when he held her so hard, she felt dizzy afterwards and there were indents in her skin, that wasn't him. When his hands closed around her neck, like a boa constrictor, hissing and spitting so hard it left red marks on her soft flesh afterwards, that wasn't really him; it was just anger. She had to tell herself that he loved her. At least, she had to keep the illusion going. She had to delude herself just a little longer. Until that night.  
  
*FLASHBACK*  
  
"Get her on the ground!" a voice shouted. A crowd of hooded figures soon enclosed the secluded area in a dense, dark forest Hermione couldn't recognize. She was hurled to the ground with inhuman force, blood spurted her mouth and a few deep gashes strategically made on her frail frame gushed openly. They jeered at her, leering through their black hoods, hooting and spitting.  
  
"Go on boy, do it now!" a cloaked hand prompted a shadowed figure to the center where her limp form lay crumpled and huddled into a ball. She shivered with cold. She could just make out a silver glint in the hand of the person moving towards her. Maybe it was her imagination, but she could've sworn she saw the same glint in his eyes, the same silver hue.  
  
"Come on, show her who you are! Show the stupid wench!" The voice called again. The shadow coming at her was pushed more and more into an eerie glow, making him more and more visible, outlining his frame in the moonlight. She gasped and held her breath as he lowered his hood.  
  
"No. it couldn't be," she whispered desperately to herself. But she knew it was; it was He. His stormy eyes bore into hers and his pale skin radiated in the moonlight. She gasped in awe and her eyes narrowed into angry slits, yet she said nothing.  
  
He couldn't stand to look at her, down on the ground below him, dirty and cold. She bled profusely, but she just glared at him, bristling, her teeth bared, yet showing no surprise. The audience whistled and hissed.  
  
"Now! Kill her boy!" A cold, shrill laugh was heard in the distance and she shivered even harder. Angry, pitiful, remorseful tears streamed down his cheeks. He choked back a sob, but he couldn't keep the lump in his throat from swelling.  
  
"Ahh, tonight, you finally become one of us Boy, like your father." He resisted the urge to vomit as he uncovered the dagger from behind him. It glistened and shined perfect silver in the light. Deadly things always seemed to glow brightest, bathed in light. Take Draco for example; he shone in the pale moonlight, making him look almost angelic. Hermione laughed and coughed up crimson blood. He wasn't angelic. He was still crying and shaking as he stepped towards her slowly.  
  
"I'm sorry." he whispered to her, "I love you."  
  
"Don't you dare ever say that Draco Malfoy! You cowardly snake! You NEVER loved me!" she shouted, her throat becoming hoarse. "You are a pitiful worm! I never completely loved you! I never could, because in here," she gestured towards his chest, "you're just too fucking hollow!" she sneered and raised her head triumphantly, courageously, at the blade shining above her.  
  
The wind howled in the trees like a mournful ghost. The air reeked of anger and death. The last of the crowd had dispersed long ago, leaving only a few here and there. A leather-clad foot kicked the blood stained dirt, making dust clouds that settled in layers on the body that lay crumpled up on the ground below.  
  
"Mudblood." 


End file.
